Chi ukwu m, 

Last year, I burnt myself to the ground holding unto a match I thought would light the way. Light I had lit and tamed and hidden for myself. 

My  charred remains would sting and corrode everything I had touched till it became ashen. 

Some days, I was a blithering mess. The breeze touching my face wouldn’t be enough to lessen the sting from the burns. Then I remembered that you said you would be here with me and hold me even when I had consumed myself. So, I wrote to you as I am now and you came and you held me. 

Everyday, I remember that I carry you in my cheeks. I carry you in my feet, and in dark rooms, I carry you on my skin. 

Chi m, some mornings, ebum gị na ọnụ m, maka na your words in my mouth give life to everything I speak to and when I speak to reflections of myself in the mirror, I see you glistening and a faint nod affirming your presence in my life. 

Chi m, I still have some burns that haven’t healed and threaten to widen but amam na ịhụnanya bụ ọgwụya and we, both of us have a large supply of it. 

Ahurum gị n’anya nkeukwu. 

Ụtọgị, 

Chiamaka